


just forget the world

by acollectionofdaydreams



Series: 3am Conversations [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, mentions of ted's cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofdaydreams/pseuds/acollectionofdaydreams
Summary: a quiet and honest moment of comfort between quentin and eliot set during q's first year at brakebills; technically canon compliant but in my heart it takes place in a better world
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: 3am Conversations [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704424
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	just forget the world

**Author's Note:**

> if you see all the wip's i'm procrastinating finishing by writing this, no you don't <3

It was a Saturday night party much like any other at the Cottage, which meant that it hadn’t ended early. Despite its wild success, Eliot had spent most of the night drifting through the crowd with Margo, mostly alternating between mingling and drinking as she flirted with the first year nature student she’d set her eyes on early in the night. He hadn’t bothered to learn the girl’s name. If history was anything to go by, he’d probably never see her again after tonight. Margo didn’t strike out with her though, unsurprisingly, and the two of them disappeared upstairs along with the others who coupled off as the night wore on. 

It wasn’t that Eliot didn’t have his own options, of course. There were plenty of first year boys who were both eager and willing to follow him upstairs, and he was fully aware of their eyes on him as he glanced around the room. He supposed he just wasn’t in the mood though. It might not happen to him often, but it did happen sometimes that he just wasn’t interested in ending the night with a stranger in his bed. 

It was true that it had been happening much more frequently for the last several weeks, but that was something to unpack some other time. He considered for a moment that maybe he was growing up or something horrifying like that, and he almost shuddered at the thought. Definitely something to deal with later.

Whatever the reason for his disillusioned state, he found himself quickly bored of the party after Margo left. He did one final sweep of the room, noting that most everyone else seemed to be winding down as well. It was getting late, he supposed. He could probably consider his official hosting duties fulfilled. So, he left the remaining partiers to their own devices and made his way upstairs to his own room.

He’d just finished his nightly routine and crawled into bed though when there was a quiet knock on his door.

He thought about ignoring it, thinking it was probably just someone drunkenly at the wrong bedroom, but then a soft voice drifted in from the hall.

“It’s me, Quentin. Are you still awake?”

Eliot pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. Q had never come to his room before without an explicit invitation, and come to think of it, Eliot hadn’t seen him around all day which was decidedly strange. So, his curiosity piqued, he called, “Yeah, come in.”

Quentin opened the door then and paused in his doorway. He was in pajamas, and his hair looked ruffled like he’d already been in bed for awhile. His expression looked utterly lost though, and there were dark circles under his puffy eyes.

Eliot scooted over and pushed back his covers without hesitation.

“Come here,” he said.

Quentin sighed and looked relieved as he shut the door behind him and paced over to the side of Eliot’s bed. He paused and looked at it a little warily before finally sitting down and leaning back against the headboard, settling in.

Eliot watched him for a minute as he waited for him to say something, but he didn’t look like he was going to, so Eliot prodded, “What’s up?”

Quentin pressed his head back against the bedframe and looked up at the ceiling. Without preamble, he said, “My dad has cancer.”

Eliot’s heart dropped into his stomach as he turned to face him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. His first instinct was to ask, “How bad is it?”

Quentin laughed quietly, a little hysterically, and shook his head as he said, “Pretty bad.”

“I’m so sorry, Q,” Eliot replied.

Family problems had always been difficult for Eliot to navigate, especially ones involving parents. He listened like a good friend when Margo bitched about her dad, and he could usually find it in himself to sympathize with her and say the right things in response. Truthfully, though, he was never really equipped to have conversations like these. He couldn’t relate to any part of it, and it didn’t exactly make him feel _good_ to be reminded of that.

This was Quentin, though, and he was sitting in front of him looking like he might cry, and that pretty much overruled any of Eliot’s conflicting emotions about it.

“I don’t know why I came here,” Quentin said, looking around Eliot’s room like he was just realizing where he’d ended up. “I just got back from New Jersey, and I couldn’t sleep, and I…”

“Hey,” Eliot said. He reached out to still Quentin’s fidgeting hand and kept it firmly held in his own as he said, “It’s okay. I’m glad you did.”

Quentin met his eyes then and nodded as he seemed to accept Eliot’s words as the truth. He settled again, this time close enough that his shoulder brushed Eliot’s, and sighed.

He dug his fingers into the back of Eliot’s hand like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it and continued, “He’s really sick, El, but he’s decided not to continue treatment, and it just feels like I should be able to _do something_ about it.” He lolled his head to the side to meet Eliot’s eyes and said, “I mean, we have _magic_. If it can’t solve the important problems then what’s it really for?”

Eliot’s heart broke a little as he heard what Quentin was really saying. His own introduction to magic had been a lot less optimistic than that. He’d known from the start that magic wouldn’t fix his problems. More often than not, it made them worse instead. He was already an outsider in his family and in his hometown, and magic was just one more thing that made him dangerous. One more thing about himself that he had to shove down.

Quentin didn’t see the world that way though. He believed in magic. He saw it as this big redeeming light in a world full of shitty darkness, and it hurt maybe more than anything else that he was wrong and that Eliot was having to watch that belief fade right in front of his eyes. He thought he’d probably fight the gods to not have to see that happen.

“Magic isn’t always helpful,” Eliot tentatively agreed, “but maybe you could ask around and see if any alumni have done research on it? Mentor day is coming up, you know.”

It was a longshot, and they both knew it. Something in him couldn’t let that light go out just yet though, if he could help it. 

“Yeah maybe,” Quentin said, sounding more tired than hopeful.

He just looked utterly drained, like he’d already considered all the possible options and cried himself out over all of it, and now he wasn’t sure what the next step was. It made Eliot’s heart ache.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside and saw that it was 3 AM. His own tiredness hadn’t really gone away, but he’d gotten sufficiently distracted by Quentin’s unexpected appearance. He could see that Q was exhausted though. His eyes were falling shut every few seconds despite his clear attempts to keep them open. There was obviously a reason though that he was still awake and not in his own bedroom, and Eliot knew a thing or two about not wanting to be alone with your own thoughts.

So, he asked, “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” 

Quentin’s eyes widened as he looked up to meet his concerned gaze. He asked, “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

Eliot felt a small little smile growing on his face as he realized he’d been right when Quentin didn’t argue. He said, “Yes, I’m sure. Besides, I think you might fall asleep standing if you get up right now, and I don’t want you falling and getting a concussion or anything.”

Quentin frowned a little as he seemed to think it over, but then he slumped his shoulders as he nodded.

“Thanks, El,” he said.

Eliot felt relief wash over himself as he squeezed Quentin’s hand one more time before letting go of it to redo his wards and turn off the lights.

Once they’d both settled under the covers, they laid in silence for a while, only the sounds of breathing and faint music from downstairs filling the air around them. Eliot had a feeling that Quentin wasn’t asleep though even after it had been several minutes. He wasn’t a psychic, but he could practically hear his brain going a hundred miles an hour from a few inches away

So, he took a chance and said, “You don’t have to deal with this alone, Q. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Quentin shifted around until he was facing Eliot, and Eliot turned onto his side as well to see his face lit up in the darkness by the faint moonlight filtering in the window. Quentin’s mouth turned up into a small smile, and he nodded.

He said, “I know. I think that’s probably why I came here.”

And Eliot didn’t know exactly what to say to that. This friendship he had with Quentin was unlike any other he’d really ever had before. It was true that Margo was his actual other half, but they weren’t the emotionally open type. Their friendship allowed Eliot to compartmentalize in a way, to keep his emotions to himself and be the person he chose to be at Brakebills, because Margo never pushed at his walls or said anything too real. She let him be the Eliot Waugh he’d spent years constructing and never asked for anything more even though she knew what skeletons lay in his closet. She was wonderful for that. 

Then Quentin came along with his earnest eyes and his emotional honesty and walked right through all of Eliot’s locked doors without even trying, leaving all of his usual tricks utterly useless.

It would be terrifying if Eliot didn’t frankly like him so very much. Well, it was still a little terrifying, but in an appealing sort of way.

Instead of figuring out what to say about any of that though, he simply scooted closer until their knees were touching, and he was pleased when Quentin didn’t flinch or back away. Words may not be something he was good at, but he knew how to do this, to offer a comforting touch. It was lucky for him that Quentin was always so receptive to that as well.

Trying for a lighter tone, he said, “Well, since you’re here, I should probably warn you that I’m a cuddler, but if it helps, I’ve been told I’m very good at it.”

Quentin grinned at him through the darkness and replied, “I think I can live with that.”

To Eliot’s utter surprise, he scooted forward then as well and tucked himself under Eliot’s chin, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist. Eliot only hesitated for a second, but Quentin still had time to pull back a little and ask, “Um, is this okay? I didn’t mean to…”

Eliot cut his panicked ramble off by wrapping both arms around him and pulling him back in close. He leaned down to kiss the top of his head, and Quentin finally settled against him.

“Of course it’s okay,” he said. “Goodnight, Q.”

Quentin pressed his head into Eliot’s chest and exhaled heavily, and Eliot allowed himself to curl protectively around him. He already sounded half asleep seconds later as he said, “Night, El.”

There would be time tomorrow to think about what it meant that Quentin felt utterly _right_ wrapped up here in his arms. That it felt a lot like a missing puzzle piece falling into place to have his best friend in his bed, fully clothed, and snuggled up against him. He was sure he’d come up with a perfectly logical explanation for that later. So, too tired for any of those nagging thoughts, he let himself drift off to sleep as well.


End file.
